


As Sharp as a Needle

by cass_e



Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Arguing, Banter, Begging, Blood, Blood Drinking, Chubby Reader, Communication, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, F/M, Grinding, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Injury, Miscommunication, Multiple Orgasms, Neck Kissing, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Plus-Size Reader, Porn With Plot, Smut, Soft Casteel, Squirting, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, hot and bothered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cass_e/pseuds/cass_e
Summary: You have a second job at the Red Pearl as a cleaning lady. One day, while arguing with Hawke Flynn, you stab yourself with a sewing needle. It gets infected, so to make up for it, Hawke offers you his . . . blood. Because it's magical? You're not quite sure, but Gods if it doesn't turn you on.~WATTPAD VERSION~
Relationships: Casteel Da'Neer/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	As Sharp as a Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Y'ALL CAN'T TELL ME PRINCE CASTEEL DA'NEER DOESN'T LOVE BBW!!
> 
> Please note: the word "fat" is used as a neutral descriptor in this a few times.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy! The beginning is a bit angsty, but HOLY SHIT THIS IS SOME OF THE FILTHIEST SEX I'VE EVER WRITTEN! :)

“I’m heading out!” You shouted over your shoulder. “Lock the door behind me!”

The girls in the living room of your shared home said they would, waving goodbye. One of them told you to be safe as you shut the door, and with that, you were off. You started a brisk walking pace to the Red Pearl, making sure to avoid any and all men.

On your eighteenth birthday, you’d run away from your family and the farm. Even though the city was dirty in ways the countryside wasn’t and far more dangerous, you found comfort in its busyness — and the electricity, though rare and expensive, was a bonus.

You’d found work right away because you were a skilled seamstress, but you’d wanted a second job, just in case.

And so — cleaning at the Red Pearl would have to do.

It was a low-key job because the patrons treated the club with respect, but it paid well, even better than your main job. And sometimes, if you were lucky, the patrons mistook you for a sex worker and tipped you.

Or maybe they knowingly tipped cleaning ladies . . ?

You weren’t sure, but you didn’t really care.

As you approached a bunch of bars, you crossed the street, back and forth, to avoid groups of men. During the six months you’d been here, you hadn’t been assaulted, and you weren’t about to be.

Besides, you had a knife in your pocket. You may not have known how to use it, but it was a weapon that, at the very least, gave you the illusion of safety.

A few minutes later, the Red Pearl was in sight, so you pushed your hood back. You entered through the back after chatting with one of the usual guards, Max, and then put your stuff on a bench near the exit. The sex workers’ vanities were strewn with jewelry and makeup, but you liked how chaotic everything looked.

Sighing, you donned an apron and stuffed it with a few rags. Then you grabbed some sheets before exiting the backroom, heading toward the stairs. One of the older women, Amelda, smiled sweetly when she saw you approaching the main area.

“(Y/n),” she said, “I was going to tell you to change the sheets, but it looks like you’re already doing that.”

“Yup,” you said, lifting them for emphasis. “Anything else you need me to do?”

“If I think of something later, you’re only a shout away,” she said, waving you on. “It’s still early, so the rooms should be empty.”

You nodded as you passed her, turning left for the stairs.

As you passed a group of younger women who worked here, they lowered their voices. You rolled your eyes as you started upstairs, ignoring their giggles and poorly whispered insults. It was no secret you were fat, but you’d never understood why people cared so much about your appearance.

Shaking your head, you got to work, starting with the nearest room on the second floor. However, by the time you got to the fifth room, you’d zoned out a bit, so when you opened the door and walked in, you weren’t at all prepared to see two men chatting on the bed.

You jumped, cursing under your breath.

You recognized one of them right away because it was the infamous Hawke Flynn. The other was a stranger . . . but just as handsome.

Because you were ashamed by your immediate train of thought, the back of your neck and face burned. You looked down, clearing your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you said, adjusting the sheets in your arms. “My boss said the rooms were empty. I’ll just come back later.”

“Did you not hear us?” the stranger asked.

He didn’t sound judgmental, but Hawke gave him a look.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said, making you look at him. His smirk caught you off guard. “You’ll have to excuse Kieran. He hasn’t been around a woman as beautiful as you in . . . a long time.”

Mortification hit you like a wave in the shallows.

You masked your reaction well, but it was like Hawke could sense your growing anger and humiliation because his brow creased. Before he could even say anything, though, you turned on your heel and then shut the door with much more force than necessary.

It echoed through the hall as you practically ran off, not caring about the other rooms you needed to finish.

You could handle straightforward disrespect — but absolutely _hated_ it when men pretended to think you were attractive for fun.

You should’ve known Hawke Flynn was like the rest of them.

* * *

Three days after your chance encounter with Hawke, it happened again.

During your break, you were fixing a guard’s cloak as a favor — and because you figured they couldn’t afford a seamstress. You’d picked an empty poker room to sit in, so when the floorboards creaked with a guest, you looked up, focusing on a dimly lit figure in the doorway.

“Can I help you, sir?” You put your needle down. “If you want to use this room, I can leave.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hawke said, stepping a bit into the light. “I actually came here to speak with you.”

Your pulse spiked, but you didn’t let your disapproval show. Hawke frequented the Red Pearl with other guards, so pissing him off would mean losing a lot of good business. And no matter how nasty you thought your coworkers were, everyone deserved food and money.

So you made sure your tone was neutral when you said, “I’m on break . . . And I’m not a sex worker. They’re down the hall if you’re looking for them.”

Hawke narrowed his eyes in thought. “I said I came here to speak with you, didn’t I?”

You just barely refrained from rolling your eyes. “Okay, then. Go ahead, Hawke Flynn.”

For some reason, the guard smiled at his name and then ducked his head. As he sat at the table, just a few feet away from you, you went back to your sewing.

“I offended you the other day,” he said, his bluntness surprising you. “I just wanted to apologize.”

“You didn’t,” you lied, focusing on the hole you were closing in the cloak.

“Really? I didn’t?”

You didn’t say anything. You figured he’d talk himself out of the conversation anyway.

“Well, that doesn’t explain the slammed door . . .” Hawke trailed off, tone playful.

It sounded like he was trying to lighten the mood, but it only served to piss you off more. You’d dealt with enough men like Hawke Flynn to last a lifetime and then some.

“I’m busy.” Your fingers were shaking because of how upset you were, but you didn’t stop sewing. You knew you should’ve because at this point, it was a hazard — but you needed the excuse to avoid looking at Hawke. “Thank you for your apology. I accept it.”

Hawke thrummed his fingers against the table, humming to himself. “Fun fact about me.”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

Hawke chuckled, leaning back. “I’m really good at picking out liars. And I can tell when people are upset.”

You didn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes this time. When you finally looked at him, still sewing, you were confused by the seemingly . . . _genuine_ smirk on his face.

And then your left index finger flared with white-hot pain. You hissed, fumbling to extract the needle. You swallowed a whine as you looked at the streak of red, feeling a little faint at how long it was. Raising your left hand, you grimaced at the blood that trailed down your palm.

“Ow . . .” You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “Mother _fucker.”_

Hawke stood, approaching you. “Do you want some help with—?”

“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” you asked, not bothering to hide the venom in your voice this time. Hawke’s brows shot up in surprise. “Gods. Go bother someone else for fuck’s sake.”

You huffed as you left, sucking on your finger.

* * *

Apparently, it didn’t matter how much you took care of your “wound” or that your “wound” was literally the width of a needle.

Because that bitch _still_ got infected.

You wanted to see a healer for it, but your roommates explained that they were really only for the wealthy. To see a healer, you needed to know someone who knew a healer. Otherwise, you had to make do with random creams and pain medications. And hope for the best, of course.

You sighed as you sat on one of the beds at the Red Pearl.

After seeing how tired you were, Amelda had given you permission to rest in an empty room for a few hours. Unfortunately, you were coming down with a fever, so when you lay down, the room spun.

You tried to form a coherent thought, but you were crushed.

Were you going to die because of such a small infection?

_Well, it’s not small anymore,_ you thought, finally stringing a few words together.

And then: _It’s all his fault._

Because it _was_ Hawke’s fault. If he hadn’t been bothering you that day in the poker room, you wouldn’t have stabbed your finger with a needle. And then you wouldn’t have succumbed to infection. And then you wouldn’t have died because, really, you knew you were going to.

“Gods . . .” Tears stung the back of your throat. “Fuck.”

You sat up, unwrapping the bandage from your finger. Sure, it was swollen, but the most noticeable symptom of infection was its red color. Carefully, you probed your left index finger. You could feel your heartbeat in it. The way it throbbed.

You just knew you were going to die, and it was all Hawke Fucking Flynn’s fault.

It was hilarious, really.

You were about to accept your fate when the door to your room opened. When you realized it was Hawke and that friend of his, Kieran, you saw red so fast you almost passed out.

Again, Hawke faltered by the doorway as if somehow sensing your reaction.

“Occupied,” you said, still cradling your finger. “Obviously.”

Kieran coughed around a laugh. “You _said_ you _apologized.”_

Hawke tried to elbow him, but his friend jumped out of the way. “I did.” The amber-eyed guard turned to face you again, clasping his hands. “I’m sorry. We were told this room was empty. We can—”

Hawke stopped himself, cocking his head to the side when he noticed your finger. “Is that—?”

“My needle injury?” Your voice rose. “Yes. Yes, this is because of my needle. My finger is infected because of a fucking needle, I can’t afford a healer, and no matter what I do, it won’t get better. So, yes, I’m dying, and it’s all your fault because you insisted on apologizing when you clearly didn’t want to.” You paused to inhale, looking down. “So unless you have some magic potion that’ll heal me, I never want to see your face again.”

The room was silent until the door shut a few seconds later. You thought they’d left, but when you looked up, they were still there. You furrowed your brow, confused.

Hawke glanced at Kieran. You didn’t miss the way his friend shot him a look, but Hawke ignored it as he approached you.

“May I see your finger?” he asked, sticking out a hand.

You were caught off guard by his change in demeanor, so serious all of a sudden, so you did as asked. When the back of your hand rested in Hawke’s calloused palm, he smiled in gratitude. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you imagined he could hear it, but—

No. That was a silly idea.

“Well, good news,” Hawke said, gently prodding at your finger. “You won’t die, but you do need a certain medicine for it. Are you sure you can’t see a healer?”

You shook your head.

“Of course.” Hawke scoffed. “Because fuck your own citizens, right?”

“Hawke . . .” Kieran trailed off, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think we can do anything about it.”

You watched as they stared at each other, going through a wordless conversation right in front of you. You were about to ask what they were doing when Kieran sighed, wiping at his face.

“Fine,” he said, glancing at you. He nodded politely. “I’ll be waiting outside. Do what you must.”

“What . . ?” You trailed off, face pinching together. “What’s going on? Do you really have some sort of . . . magic potion?”

Hawke adjusted his grip on your hand, trailing his fingers down your wrist. You made a weird sound at the sensation and then tried to apologize for it, but Hawke only smiled.

“Let me clarify one thing,” he said, thumb tracing over the veins in your wrist. “I did want to apologize. And I still do because I don’t know what I did to offend you.”

You figured it was the fever talking, but you decided to be straight with him. “You called me beautiful.”

Hawke’s brows drew together, his fingers pausing on your wrist. He held your gaze. “What?”

“The night I walked in on you and Kieran,” you said, glancing down at his fingers. For some reason, you were glad they’d started to move again. “You called me beautiful, and no one— It’s always meant as a joke. And no offense, but the men who do it always look like you.” You paused, dropping your gaze. “So that’s why I was upset with you.”

Hawke blurted out a quick laugh, making you look back up at him.

“Wait—” He waved a hand, grinning. “You were mad because you thought I was lying?”

You blinked. “Well, weren’t you?”

“No, of course not,” Hawke said, tilting his head down. “You’re very beautiful . . .”

When he trailed off, you realized he was waiting for your name. When you provided him with it, his cheeks dimpled.

“You’re very beautiful, (Y/n),” he said. “And I’m a very honest person when I want to be, which brings me to my next point. Basically, in a manner of speaking, I _do_ have a magic potion for you, but it’s very rare, so you can’t tell anyone about it.”

You gave him a look. “You say you’re honest when you _want_ to be. Are you being honest with me now? Or is that something else you’ll lie about?”

Hawke licked at the inside of his cheek, amused. “I promise I’m not lying.” His fingers brushed under your sleeve, pushing it back ever so slightly. The delicateness of his touch had you thinking very indecent things. “But I’m serious when I say you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“I’m a lowly seamstress working a second job at the Red Pearl,” you deadpanned. “Even if I did say something, I doubt anyone would believe me.”

“Okay, well . . .” Hawke released your hand, backing up. He took off his cloak and then reached for one of his blades, startling you a bit. “Don’t worry. This is for me.”

Your mind raced as you tried to figure out what he was doing. “Um, Hawke . . .”

“There are some side effects,” he said, approaching the bed. He put his sword by your hip.

“Like . . ?”

Hawke seemed a bit sheepish as he said, “Arousal. It _may_ double as an aphrodisiac.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed in his face. “Before, your friend gave you a look like you were crazy.”

“So?”

“So maybe he was right.”

There was laughter from the hall — Kieran.

“For the record, he thought you were beautiful too,” Hawke said, unbuttoning his cuffs.

You ignored his comment, but heat whipped through your body. “Why’re you getting undressed?”

Hawke paused, catching your gaze so he could hold it. “(Y/n),” he said slowly, “your finger will be as good as new so long as you drink my blood.”

You jerked back as you processed his words.

His blood.

Hawke’s blood.

Hawke’s . . . _blood._

“Your blood,” you said, gaze flitting about. “As in, the blood . . . in your body. The blood we bleed. Your actual blood.”

Another laugh from the hall.

Hawke grinned, continuing to unbutton his shirt. “Do you still believe me?”

“Even if you were lying,” you said, feeling a bit delirious, “it’s worth a shot. Besides, I’d have a killer story to tell . . . ‘Yes, I drank Hawke Flynn’s blood because he said it was magical. No, he was dead sober. No, it wasn’t magical.’”

You watched as he took off his shirt. The gravity of the situation sunk in.

“Wait . . .” you trailed off, pressing a hand to your chest. “When you mentioned arousal, you didn’t mean . . . _You_ get aroused? Or I will? And why are you getting undressed? You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, only you will be aroused. So with your explicit consent,” Hawke said, folding his shirt, “I’d like to help you with it. By having sex with you.”

You burst out laughing again and then apologized, but Hawke was smirking, amber eyes glimmering.

“Is this your party trick?” you teased. “Is this how you get into everyone’s pants?”

“You know, I’m still waiting to hear your decision. I don’t have to be here for the effects, but I do need your answer before them. That way, it won’t be the arousal talking when you’re begging for my cock.”

Heat blossomed between your legs as you held Hawke’s smug gaze. His amber eyes jumped from your face to your legs, like he knew you were already getting aroused, but— No. That was impossible.

Then again, if he had magic blood, what _else_ was he capable of?

You swallowed thickly, finally finding your voice. “Well . . . Sure.” When Hawke raised a brow, you added, “Fine. Yes. Let it be known that I, (Y/n), of sound mind and body, am begging for Hawke Flynn’s cock.”

Excitement flashed through Hawke’s eyes.

Laughter sounded from the hall until Kieran pounded on the door. “I’m going downstairs,” he said. “You two have fun.”

Your stomach was twisting itself in knots as Hawke slowly approached you. You tried not to fixate on the way he was walking, prowling, but even that was attractive. His lips quirked up as he pressed a few fingers to your left knee, pushing it to the side. You were confused but let him have his way, and within seconds, he was standing between your spread legs.

You leaned back and closed your eyes, heart in your throat. Just the thought of his naked body between your thighs had your toes curling in your shoes, your stomach clenching.

When you felt Hawke’s fingers under your chin, you blinked your eyes open, looking up at him. But he tilted your head back anyway, smiling as he looked over your face . . . Seemingly _appreciating it._

You knew the jokes were over when your core ached; when your breath caught because of it.

“Well,” Hawke said, voice lilting. “It would appear you don’t even need my blood to get aroused.”

“Well? When are we getting started?” You smiled but narrowed your eyes. _“Bleed_ for me, Hawke Flynn.”

His brows shot up. He licked the roof of his mouth as he grabbed his sword, and then pressed the blade into his palm. You came back to yourself a bit when you realized this man was about to hurt himself for you, but Hawke cut you off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t worry,” he said, slicing his palm. “My magic blood works on me too.”

You were startled by the ease at which he cut himself, but then you focused on the blood trickling down his palm. _That_ did startle you, so you grabbed his wrist, a bit panicked. You watched as the crimson liquid dribbled over your fingers, pattering on the floor.

“Drink,” Hawke said gently, moving his hand to your mouth. “It’s okay, (Y/n).”

You had no reason to believe him, but you did.

So you pressed your mouth to his calloused palm, expecting to taste nothing but iron, but it wasn’t like that at all.

At the first drop of blood on your tongue, you tasted nothing but citrus and sun, nothing but a warmness you hadn’t experienced in years. Your face crumpled at how good it tasted. You didn’t even care that you moaned into his palm as you drew it closer, impossibly close.

“That’s it,” Hawke murmured, using his other hand to caress your brow. “Lovely.”

You whimpered at the praise, heat seeping through every inch of your body. This time, it wasn’t because of your fever. With every swallow of Hawke’s delicious blood, your worries faded. And then, within seconds, you were lost to the world, clinging onto Hawke’s hand as if your life depended on it.

Over the dull roaring in your ears, you thought you heard yourself making needy noises, but Hawke gently shushed you. His fingers never left your face, grounding you with small touches to your cheek and jaw.

You tried to find it in yourself to be ashamed of reacting like this, and to drinking someone’s blood no less, but it appeared Hawke hadn’t been lying. Only a few minutes had passed, but your body was practically thrumming with need. When you tried to assuage the growing ache between your legs by closing them, Hawke tutted, nudging your legs apart with a knee.

You panted against his palm, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Hawke, please—”

“Begging this early?”

You groaned, the sound guttural. “Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea.”

You just knew he was smiling but couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You went back to lick at his palm, but when your tongue slid over his flesh, you tasted . . . _nothing._

There was no cut.

You thought you were seeing things, but . . . no.

You fought to care, to ask Hawke what the fuck was going on, but the effects of his blood hit you all at once. It’d been working up to this, but still — you hadn’t expected it to be this much. It was quick, coursing through your veins, dominating you from the inside out.

The mere thought had you clutching at Hawke’s wrist, a pathetic sound escaping you.

Hawke hummed as he undid the silver clasps of your wrap, revealing your floor-length slip. You pulled your arms out and then went to take off your slip, but Hawke stopped you with a hand on your neck.

You looked up at him, breathing hard, waiting on his every move.

“Lie back,” he whispered, pushing you gently. When Hawke grabbed your thigh and lower back to move you toward the center of the bed, you were about to protest because of your weight, but he moved you as if you weighed nothing.

You blinked up at him, starstruck.

He untied his pants but kept them on as he crawled over you, pressing your thighs apart.

“That tasted good, didn’t it?” he asked, moving your slip up your legs. You thought he was only going to stare, but he crawled between your legs and then pressed against the front of your body.

Your body practically sang with relief at his touch. You nodded as he licked your mouth, cleaning up his own blood. And then his hand wandered to your cleavage as he kissed you sloppily, nibbling your lips. Hawke groaned in approval when you threaded your fingers through his black curls, tugging ever so slightly.

“I’m sure you can see why I asked beforehand,” he said, voice thick with arousal.

You couldn’t really form a coherent thought as he kissed down your neck. Right when you thought you had something to say, his thumb danced over your right nipple. Even though your bra, you felt it as clear as day, pleasure zinging from the crown of your head to your clit.

“Fuck . . !” Your thighs tightened around Hawke’s hips, seeking relief. This time, he ground against you, making your mouth drop open on a sweet cry. The weight of his body against yours, so real and warm, and against your clit, had your mind whiting out.

As Hawke mouthed over the mounds of your breasts, he ground his erection against that sensitive spot between your legs. You rocked into him, both of you groaning.

“Fuck, everything about you is so soft.” Hawke pulled back to look you in the eye. You thought he was going to say something, but all he wanted to do was watch your face as he ground against you again, this time not slowing down. “Gods, I love it. You’re beautiful.”

Your face crumpled with pleasure. “Please, Hawke, it’s too much— I need you to do something— Touch me! Please, Hawke—”

He swooped down to silence you with his mouth, nodding. He made quick work of your bra and slip, and even though you’d only been naked around a handful of men before, you weren’t embarrassed. As Hawke leaned back to pull his cock out, you spread your legs.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll get there,” he said with a grin, leaning back over you. When he sucked your left nipple into his hot, wet mouth, your back arched. And when he slipped a hand between your wet folds, you raised your hips to meet his hand, desperate. Every part of you needed his touch, his attention, and he was willing to just — _give it all to you._ It had your mind reeling, had your breath stuttering, had the pleasure stacking all too soon in your gut.

When a tightness pulled at your chest, you were shocked. It felt like at any second, you would unravel, and Hawke had barely done anything yet.

“I— I can’t—!” You scrambled to press a hand between your thighs, rubbing your swollen clit.

Hawke responded in kind by slipping two fingers inside you, thrusting them against the sensitive wall of your cunt as if it were second-nature to him. Your thighs trembled and tried to close, but Hawke quite literally shouldered them apart, using whatever inhuman strength he possessed to watch you come apart on his fingers.

Your mouth fell open as you finally tipped over the edge, hips frantically moving against his palm. When your fingers paused over your clit, Hawke took over, using the pads of his fingers to rub it.

Hawke teased you as you gracelessly lost your mind. “Look at your tight little pussy clenching around my fingers. Bet you wished they were my cock . . . You’re still coming, huh? Can you squirt all over my fingers? Can you let go? Can you do that for me, (Y/n)?"

When you could finally breathe, you wailed. Hawke’s fingers slapped against your wet folds as you squirted, eyes rolling back. You clawed at the sheets as your release throttled you.

When you were finally done, Hawke retracted his fingers, cupping your pussy as he leaned over you again. Your lower lip trembled as you fought to make sense of what had just happened, feeling a bit self-conscious, but he kissed your worries away.

As you caught your breath, you slowly came back to yourself. You made a questioning sound, lightly pushing Hawke’s face away so you could look him in the eye.

“That—” Your voice cracked, making him grin. You rolled your eyes. “That was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Then I’m honored,” he said, sitting back on his heels. He grabbed his cock, stroking it slowly. “Would you be up for this too? You can say no now that I’m sure you’re a bit more clearheaded.”

You smiled behind your hand, about to agree to another round — when you did a double-take. You held up your _left_ hand, staring at the finger that had once been puffy and red. Now, it looked as good as new, just as Hawke had promised.

“Thank you,” you said, getting a bit choked up. “And yes. I’m explicitly asking for your cock, Hawke Flynn.”

“Well, then,” Hawke said, lips curling up, “I look forward to giving it to you, (Y/n).”

You both grinned as he lined himself up, but as soon as he pushed in, you groaned.

“Wow, you feel . . . big,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Hawke dipped his head, but you saw his shoulders shake with a chuckle.

But then you inhaled sharply. There was a bit of pain, a burning sensation you’d expected, but apparently not Hawke. He whipped his head up, scanning your face. His attention made your heart flutter, but you shook your head, letting him know he had nothing to worry about.

“I’m on this type of birth control even though I’m a virgin—”

Hawke spluttered as his hips finally pressed into your thighs. His amber eyes were comically wide.

“Oh,” you whispered, feeling a bit small all of a sudden. “Is that — Is that bad? I didn’t want to mention it because—”

“No, (Y/n), I’m just . . .” Hawke struggled to find the words. You watched as his face turned beet red. “You didn’t think to tell me you were a virgin? At all? Fuck, I would’ve — I would’ve gone slower or something. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you said, smiling as you looked him over. “Now, move. I want to feel you.”

It was bold, but you were starting to realize Hawke liked bold.

He grinned as he moved over you again, pressing into your stomach and breasts. He ground into you nice and slow, kissing your gasping mouth as pleasure from a different type of friction grew between your legs again. It was the kind that wholly arrested you, that you could do little but lie there and take it, let it consume you.

You panted harshly when Hawke twisted your nipple, making you clench around him. Everything was perfect, from the way he kissed you, to the fill of his cock, to the way you’d catch his warm, amber eyes if you ever opened yours. You’d never felt so cared for, so paid attention to. It was shattering in the best way possible, making your chest cramped but light all at once.

When Hawke was close, you were surprised you were right there with him again, moaning breathily. His thrusts quickened until the room was filled with the sounds of your fucking, obscene but oh-so satisfying.

When you came this time, it was different, slower but more powerful. You couldn’t control the way your pussy clenched around his cock. And when he came inside you, he moaned against your lips, eyes shut in ecstasy.

When you were both finally done, he collapsed on top of you.

You caught your breath, struggling to stay awake.

“Just sleep,” Hawke said, slipping his cock out. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And as you slipped under, you believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> This is my first fandom work on here, so lemme know if anyone's interested in seeing more!


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